Sweet Tooth
by RougeaufSherlock
Summary: "He let the air escape through his nose and returned the kiss, lips forming to meet each other like puzzle pieces, tongues wrapping, playing, tasting. There was red, a flashing spectrum of red, all its shades and hues slowing and pooling to a flowing river, consuming them, blinding them, dulling their senses." When Sherlock and John have their first time, they do it with chocolate


Valentine's Day Exchange Gift for Tumblr user Kookyfan who asked for: _"Sherlock and John celebrating their one year anniversary which involves: chocolate, dinner, lots of kisses, red pants, and (if possible) Sherlock losing his v-card."_

So porn ensues...

* * *

John was gorgeous in his tight red briefs, from which the bulge of his still-flaccid cock was readily apparent. They covered beautifully his round bum, tight just where it met the legs, and a thin, soft red shield covered the plump skin of his arse. His skin was golden, not that of a man who was tanned, but of a man who tanned easily, yet had spent too long away from the hot desert sun. He rang with confidence, no sense of insecurities, and it was a small comfort to Sherlock, who was like a little lost child, naked on the bed, his alabaster skin clear of hair, a well-shaven man aside from the mess black mop on his head.

He watched John with wide eyes as he walked toward the bed. He was fidgeting, always fidgeting, and the closer John came, the more time Sherlock spent looking down. He wasn't erect yet; that was okay. Neither of them were.

"Happy one-year," said John as he crawled onto the mattress. His voice was milk chocolate, smooth, soothing. Sherlock looked up. He could feel John on the bed, of course. He knew exactly where he was by the compression of the mattress, yet he couldn't help but act surprised when he saw John's face up-close. It was sweet, yes, full of kindness, but there was something else too. It was in the way his eyes were lit, it was in the way that his smile seemed out of his control. It was that pure, intangible happiness then sent millions of tiny hummingbirds into flight through Sherlock's skin. In their wake, they refreshed him.

"You too," he said.

"Lie back," said John.

Sherlock swallowed a little harder than he expected, something John noticed easily.

"You'll be fine," he comforted as he crawled forward at Sherlock, making him lie back on pillows. "You remember the safe word?"

Sherlock nodded. "Hemoglobin," he replied.

"Good," said John, now straddling Sherlock's legs, their foreheads only inches away. He held the back of Sherlock's head and looked directly into his eyes. Sherlock was caught up in in the deep forest that was John's eyes, trying to regain some power as he used his own to deduce every thought, every emotion, yet he soon realized in all of it, that he'd forgotten to breathe. He drew in a shaky breath and released it, just as trepid. John was back in control.

That would be okay for tonight.

John slid his head down and took Sherlock by the lips, an action that made Sherlock's breath hitch. He tried to relax, to remind himself that they both wanted this, and that nothing was forcing him to continue. He let the air escape from his nose and returned the kiss, lips forming to meet each other like puzzle pieces, tongues wrapping, playing, tasting. There was red, a flashing spectrum of red, all its shades and hues slowing and pooling to a flowing river, consuming them, blinding them, dulling their senses. John pressed his crotch into Sherlock and rubbed himself up and down, feeling soft turn hard, another force emerging, growing against his. Breathing became second nature once again, and they kissed until they were numb. They kissed until the world disappeared and they were all that was left. They kissed until they crumbled.

John pulled away and ran his thumb through the back of Sherlock's hair. "Relax," he breathed, and Sherlock felt all the remaining weight and strain in his muscles disintegrate.

On the bedstand was a bag of chocolates, a mix of dark and milk, already opened, a few scattered about by the opening. John grabbed a handful and placed the chocolates beside them on the bed.

Sherlock's exposed chest stared up at him, his nipples like little red candies. John lowered himself and flattened his tongue over one of them. In feeling Sherlock tense, he ran his thumb over his shoulder to calm him, and it worked. Sherlock sunk again. He placed every trust in John.

John closed his mouth around the skin and sucked at it, running his tongue up and down over the nipple. He pressed it down, savoring the bitter flavors of skin, the little bump at the top of his tongue.

Sherlock's skin was red now, moistened by John's mouth, and very raw. John selected a chocolate from beside them, took it out of its blue wrapper, one that indicated milk chocolate (John's preference), and placed it over Sherlock's nipple. He covered the area again with his mouth and breathed a steady stream of warm air onto it. It began to melt, and just then, John released and began work on the second nipple.

He worked in different ways on this one, teasing lightly with his tongue and gracing the edges with his teeth. He licked around it, not over it, occasionally tapping it with the tip of his tongue.

Sherlock felt like he was suspended in mid air. He tilted his head back and curled his toes. John had him perfectly balanced between relaxed and desperately wanting, and there was nothing he could do but let John have his way.

The second nipple now red and prepared, John repeated the process with the chocolate, breathing warmth to melt it. Once soft enough, he used his fingers to rub it in circles over Sherlock's nipple. He continued to do so, leaving a pattern of chocolate on Sherlock's skin as he breathed again onto the first chocolate, and then with his free hand, rubbed that one too.

"What'r you doing?" mumbled Sherlock.

"I'm sugar coating you," said John light-heartedly.

"Oh," said Sherlock. And in needing now to do something with his hands, he stretched them up and massaged John's lower back as John coated him with the sweet chocolate.

"I hope you like messy sex," said John.

"Odd for the first time, don't you think?" asked Sherlock.

"Since when have we ever been normal?"

Sherlock couldn't help but smile.

John placed another chocolate right below Sherlock's chest, right in the center, and closed his mouth over it. He dragged it down Sherlock's abdomen, right down the center line with his tongue, just to a few centimeters above his navel. Sherlock shuddered that John should come so close with his mouth, felt ice trickle through his blood at the tease, and out came an unanticipated moan.

John grinned. "Patience, Sherlock." He eyed him up and down, lusting after the skin and chocolate coating. From where the trail ended, he licked back up, slowly and deliberately over the chocolate trail, covering his lips and tongue in it, and when he reached Sherlock's chest, he crawled forward and took Sherlock again by the mouth. There was a splash of sweet covering the savory that was John's tongue. John pulled away only a little and Sherlock reached for his lips. He closed his mouth around John's bottom lip and tasted the sweetness, then released and worked his tongue all around until every last bit of sweet was licked away.

John scooped up some of the chocolate from Sherlock's chest and put his finger into Sherlock's mouth, rubbing it over his tongue, over the walls, making him work for it, and then they fell into another kiss and disappeared.

Sherlock pulled away this time. "John," he said. John knew his name on Sherlock's lips was not of concern, but of implication. Sherlock was ready.

"Okay," said John. He brought Sherlock's hands to his redpants. "Pull them down."

Sherlock pulled, and John's pants slid down, revealing his thick cock. It bobbed as it was freed, and Sherlock went glossy eyed. John picked up the lubricant from the bedstand and squeezed some onto his fingers, then set the tube on the bed. He crawled backwards a little so he was in good position to work with Sherlock's arse.

He lifted one of Sherlock's legs and pushed a finger into his hole. Sherlock tensed yet again. "Just relax," said John. He had hold of Sherlock's thigh and he massaged it as he worked Sherlock open. He curled his finger around in all directions, and it slid easily. Unfortunately, Sherlock found it incredibly difficult to relax with John fingering him.

"How does it feel?" asked John as he pushed the second finger in.

"Weird," said Sherlock. His breath caught as John pressed in just the right spot. "Good weird," Sherlock breathed. He focused on breathing, in and out, deep, slow breaths. It was an impossible task.

John managed to get the third and fourth finger in at once. "It'll feel like that," he said. "But it gets much better, promise."

He pulled out and squeezed some more lubricant over his fingers. He pushed them all in at once and continued to open and stretch Sherlock's hole. Sherlock was breathing much harder, but still in control. He squeezed the bedsheets in his hands. There was a knot growing in his stomach that he couldn't force away.

John pulled his fingers out again and observed his job. Sherlock managed to relax a little. He was gaping open, some of the lubricant leaking out. John was pleased.

He put Sherlock's leg down and crawled forward between his knees, lining himself up with Sherlock's arsehole.

"Ready?" he asked, enthusiastically. Sherlock nodded.

John held the head of his cock over the outside of Sherlock's hole. Sherlock felt it around the edges.

"Please," he begged, absolutely desperate for it.

John pushed in.

Oh the sensations were explosive! Their mouths both gaped in unison, and John was suddenly thrusting into him without any conscious realization of when it started.

He gripped Sherlock by the hips and Sherlock took John by the arms. He was being pressed over and over again into the pillow into the headboard. John was incredibly thick and filled him like nothing he'd ever felt before.

Their hearts picked up speed, and they were breathing in tandem. Sherlock gritted his teeth but it didn't help the great, deep moan that welled up from deep within. It shocked John. He picked up, moaning too in response to Sherlock's, but his was high, desperate.

"Oh, god Sherlock. Oh fuck," he whimpered. He dragged his arms up to Sherlock's back and lifted him up so that their bodies were touching, the chocolate melting onto his skin too. he then lowered with Sherlock closer to the bed to make it more comfortable for the both of them, resting his chin on Sherlock's shoulder and pressing his warm lips into the cavity beside his neck. He couldn't help it. Everything was too good and he bit down.

Sherlock howled.

"I won't be long," breathed John. "Oh fuck, fuck!" And John was coming. Sherlock felt the warm splashes inside hime, John's cock twitching, and it was enough to undo him. He fell apart, unable to even mouth anything as he came. He felt like his insides were being painted over, painted red, painted rainbow, fresh new, and then he went limp.

They kept their bodies pressed close as they laid back on the bed. They remained in a very tight hug, smiles on their faces, foreheads pressed together.

"You did really well for your first time," said John.

Sherlock laughed. "Some moments need to last."

John kissed him, just lightly, just a tease, and said, "Happy Anniversary, Sherlock."

Sherlock pulled John tighter. "Happy Anniversary, John Watson."


End file.
